Good gourmet burger? Beets me.

Mine eyes have seen less glory in the last two decades due to aging, heredity or for whatever reasons that might develop. I started out with prescription glasses but eventually found I could do just fine with cheap reading glasses that somewhere along the way have been dubbed as “cheaters.”

I usually take my glasses along if I anticipate reading. Often times I don’t take them and later wish I had. Then sometimes it doesn’t really make a big ice sculpture whether I do or don’t need classes.

Most times I have glasses when I visit a place to eat that I have not previously visited. There is no telling what type of font or print size on a menu one might find nor may one predict the lighting. Even with glasses, especially cheaters, I might not possess the ability to read a menu with ease. Who knows what one might order.

But last week while staying at a Marriott near Houston’s Galleria I did not have a clue where I wanted to eat or what I wanted to eat. I was by myself, I was on foot — I have been told by a doctor to stay off my feet for more than a month ago due to a foot ulcer — so I likewise chose not to venture far.

As it turned out, there was a little strip center just around the corner from where I was staying. It was actually across the street from the huge mall but I had already taken one tour, at least partially, through the center. So I was pretty tired and was hungry.

I try not to eat more than a burger a week, it being my favorite, for weight and health issues. Although, sometimes a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Using such irreversible logic, I decided upon a darkened little restaurant called the Burger Palace and Bistro.

The sign on the window made mention of its being Houston’s best destination for 100 percent Akaushi American Kobe beef. That pedigree being mentioned I could see dollars slowly fading from my debit card. Having been a hamburger cook at a 4-star flea market cafe — hey when I say “4-star” what they hell does it mean anyway? — I could cook a burger that would make Wendy and Ronald McDonald go into hiding.

Now all sectors of the farming and ranching industry these days put out all kinds of smack about their food. An old friend from high school works as a PR guy for a statewide farm association and he is on the warpath with the anti GMO folks. Me I could care less. Two things food is basically about. One is sustenance. The other is taste. Then, somewhere down the line is health. And yes, I agree, that is three. So sue me!

I must’ve been lost somewhere down the line. But all these foreign names for beef don’t impress me. That is why I chose the Mitsubishi, sorry, I mean Akaushi, which is a strain of Japanese cattle. Kobe originally meant beef sold by tall, dark professional basketball players. No, just joking. It’s a city in Japan, silly.

Once inside the Burger Palace, back to no glasses, I could hardly see what was on the menu. Out of the 50 or so imported beers, I did make out “Estrella Damm” as the kind of light Spanish beer I might like to have with or before my dinner. It was a nice light beer, reminiscent of Olympia, which was the only American beer I could find worth a damn in Asia back in the Navy. And way back before Oly became synonymous with Old Milwaukee,

Speaking of the Navy, I visited a few ports in Australia back when I rode a destroyer in the Western and Southern Pacific. That nation had some delightful oddities in their food and it had nothing to do with chewing rough kangaroo feet. Australians had some great variations on food we ate as a matter of routine in the U.S. Among that cuisine was fried eggs or pineapple slices on their hamburgers.

Australians also were very fond of beets — they call them “beetroot” — and found them to be a very fitting additive to a hamburger. I ate eggs and pineapple on Aussie food, but I never tried beets. It just didn’t seem right. Not on a hamburger. Not in my stomach.

But last week in the Burger Palace and Bistro, at 2800 Sage Road, #1100, I tried beets on my burger, called the what else? the “Down Under.” Here is what comes on your burger, mate:

“Grilled Pineapple, White Cheddar, Roasted Beets, Fried Egg with Duck Fat or olive oil & Homemade Aioli.” Aioli is a garlic-flavored yolk sauce. I don’t know if there was any “duck fat” on it. I hope not.

But it was a very delicious burger. The beet left a reddish color to the bun and the gooey-ness made the sandwich somewhat difficult to navigate as a hand food. But it was just as good eaten with a fork.

The burger, which I ordered with a side of upright fries, was $10.95. The imported beer and tip came out to about $20. It was kind of pricey for a quick meal alone. But This seemed to be favored by couples and small groups.

The menu displays a variety for just about anyone’s pallette including vegans. Just tell them to leave off the duck fat.

The Burger Palace and Bistro
2800 Sage Rd., #1100
Houston, Texas 77056
(713)877-9700
Monday-Saturday 11a.m.-10 p.m.
Closed: Sunday

Hither and yon. Or how the hell did this post possibly turn out this long?

Here are some thoughts flowing hither and yon in my linguini today:

To tell the whole story in a bottle will take too long. Shall I just say that I spent the night in Houston and had a cardiology appointment yesterday at the VA Hospital? It amounted to talking with a physician’s assistant who said I needed another echo-cardiogram. Why couldn’t they just tell me to get the test? I already had one echo and it showed I had some enlarging on the right side of my heart. The cardiologist I had dealt with previously said an enlarging on the right side wasn’t anything needing attention right then and there. The doctor’s suspicion was that it had to do with my sleep apnea. I had recently received a new CPAP machine,  a computer memory card I sent the sleep folks said I was still showing a high incidence of sleep apnea. Jeez Louise. It’s always something. I’m facing possible toe surgery and any kind of surgery does not make me do flips of joy. And neither does any kind of heart abnormality make me want to dance.

Continuing my story, I found that using the Houston Metro light rail is a pretty good way to get around in conjunction with the bus. That is at least true for most areas I normally travel around Houston. The rail is expanding with two lines under construction and two others planned. Right now the system is a 12.8-mile route that includes stops ranging from the northern part of the city to just outside the I-610 Loop South along Fannin Street. Just prior to the Loop and Red Line terminus is a stop just outside NRG Stadium and the “old” Astrodome.

I found living in and around Dallas for a time that good public transit systems keep time with little deviation. Dallas became a much better city to navigate once the light rail was finished. It has been years since I rode a city bus up there. Houston also has a decent bus system, hopefully the expansion of light rail will make the transit system gel much better. As it is now, I am able to get around on buses in Houston and jumping off at rail stations to take me to another point somewhat faster.

The wheels of the bus go ’round and ’round … though not too quickly. I’m talking about Greyhound in Houston, not Houston Metro. I rode the bus to Houston and back to Rose City – a tiny spot on I-10 — just east of Beaumont in Orange County. It is designated the “Beaumont-Vidor” bus station. I have no idea why they moved the station way out in the middle of nowhere from what was, at least a bus station, on Magnolia Avenue in Beaumont.

My bus back yesterday got going 30 minutes late. It isn’t a big surprise. Some people at the Houston Greyhound station are, well, let’s just say they aren’t pleasant people. They wanted me to show my ID three times before boarding the bus. It would have been four times had the security person been at his area. I waited a minute or two, he never came, I just walked in. The Greyhound lady, who must have had a rough commute on her broom that morning, said those tickets printed at home as I presented can be easily copied. My question, the little bucks one gets off the price, what really is the advantage?

Once the bus was about to leave — a new driver getting OJT with the driver who drove on my trip to Houston — the decision was made for a late-coming Mamma, her baby and the baby Mamma’s Mamma. Baby Mamma asked one dude if he would move so she could sit down with her little baby. He said no, which he really shouldn’t have done. But the Baby Mamma then unleashed a shrill attack on the stubborn dude, calling him all kinda ghetto names. First, the experienced driver told the two parties to get off the bus. Nobody wanted to move, so the invisible security guy came up inside the bus. He was joined by some other guy who looked as if he might be a U.S. Marshal or a undercover cop and finally got the parties off the Greyhound without any rough stuff. But the Greyhound folks decided after talking to the guy who had argued with Baby Mama to let him back on the bus. Meanwhile, Baby Mamma, Baby and Baby Mamma’s Mamma were “outta there.” What a freaking mess! Can’t we all just get along?

Well, I’m back in B-town, what I don’t call Beaumont. I am about ready to leave this place, but that’s another story for another day.

Oh, at least Greyhounds have electric plugs to recharge phones and other devices these days! And both Greyhound and Metro have mobile apps. Not the best in the world, but somewhat decent.

Poor impulse control? No impulse control? Whatever!

Impulse is a word that appears as imparting more bad than good. It would be my guess that people these days seem to associate the word in its psychological form and specifically dealing with “poor impulse control” as in criminal acts. Specifically, the criminal acts – thanks to TV programs such as “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit” associated with sex.

But impulse, that dealing with human behavior, is not always negative. Indeed there are some wonderful aspects of life that are constructed due to impulse. Of course, circumstances in which impulse may be great in the same manner may be, well, let’s say not so good. Take for instance life in one of its basic forms: birth.

While it is true that birth control has slowed down the numbers of babies resulting from the impulsive act of, as Bob Seger so aptly put it, “the Horizontal Bop.” So called “unprotected sex” not to mention faulty birth control methods still produce the little “surprise.” Some might see that little surprise as surprise!:) or as surprise:/OMG!

Not to get off the point, but doesn’t unprotected sex seem as quite a harsh expression? The phrase evokes showing up to the bed encased in a latex body suit. Or maybe a suit of armor. Let’s say you are just sitting there slowly rusting away from the humidity of the room while awaiting for the fair damsel to arrive with the key to her chastity belt. Quaint.

It also would be interesting to see studies of children of those with “poor” impulse control. Do they have a plan for everything ranging from taking a shit to having the car serviced?

I heard the Steve Winwood song “Roll With It” today while sitting in the IHOP and the title made me think of my impulsive life, good and bad, but mostly good. I never suspected, by the way, that I would do a phone interview with one of that song’s writers. Will Jennings has written or co-written for what seems like a “Who’s Who” of popular music. He co-wrote most popular songs recorded by Winwood, after the artist’s younger years spent with the group Traffic. I interviewed Jennings after he received Song of the Year honors at the Grammys for “Tears In Heaven,” which he co-wrote with Eric Clapton. Jennings came across as warm and unpretentious, which his friends from the college he attended and taught – my alma mater Stephen F. Austin — said were typical.

Oh, while I’m name dropping, most who know me understand I was far from a George Dubya Bush fan. However, I am proud of having interviewed him when he was head of the Texas Rangers baseball team. I was unmolested by handlers and Secret Service, which were prevalent while covering several events while he was president. I was actually part of the press pool a couple of times during visits he made home to Crawford, Texas. And I did get wet once. Pool, wet, get it? That was from waiting in the rain for the Secret Service to do their sweep of the church where I would attend services with the first family. In between baseball and the presidency, I also covered I don’t know how many events while GWB was governor. The same goes for Ricky Bob Perry.

I have had many good times doing the impulsive. And I never did anything to land me in prison. Well, let me rephrase that. I was never imprisoned for anything and kind of leave it at that.

And I did a few impulsive acts I wish I hadn’t. They mostly cost me money or made me feel awkward the next day. I will kind of leave that at that.

Just remember, my friends, there is no explanation better than leaving matters at that. Or maybe that isn’t so. It’s all according to how your boogaloo situation stands, you understand, as if you ever heard “Clap for the Wolfman.”

Exploding rail cars nothing new. But some changes in what and inside what they carry.

Today I thought I would keep the commentary to a minimum. Okay, who is the smart ass out there who is whooping and hollering and clapping hands?

Having spent a pretty fair amount of time in both public safety and journalism has afforded me an opportunity to see kind of an amazing phenomenon. That is, when some kind of manmade disaster occurs it always seems to much of the public — and to many in journalism — that this was the first time such and such happens. Fortunately, both sectors have an equal, if not more, stores of long-reaching memories.

If the media was spending less time on the next to the next terror attacks, or story, or story about a story, du jour  then perhaps we would be hearing more on the West Virginia train derailment. That wreck did make quite a boom, which is always good television. Fortunately, no serious injuries or fatalities have been reported, according to the U.S. Coast Guard. That service has been working to containing pollution in a local river from the CSX freight train from North Dakota to Virginia that was carrying Bakken crude oil. The USCG said the train consisted of two locomotives and 109 rail cars — 107 tank cars and two buffer cars.

The rail cars were reportedly of an improved type for carrying crude oil or ethanol.  The Bakken crude is so named for the geological shale formation producing oil in Montana, North Dakota, Saskatchewan and Manitoba. Bakken crude is characterized as a light, sweet crude that is easier to refine than normal crude. But it also has a lower flashpoint so it also is more dangerous than traditional crude.

Oil from the Bakken formation has been present in a number of disasters. Most notable was the 2013 Lac-Mégantic derailment in Quebec. The 72-car North Daktoa to New Brunswick freight train was left unattended and ran away. The train exploded and caught fire resulting in 47 deaths and five missing, presumed dead. Almost half of the downtown area was destroyed.

The Bakken crude is among the oil proposed for shipping to northern portions of the XL Keystone Pipeline, and ultimately to the Gulf Coast.

It has been some 35 years since I was truly involved in planning for dangerous hazardous materials, or HazMat, accidents. I had once seen in the woods a tank car that had been carrying polyvinyl chloride — the substance used in manufacturing PVC pipe –that had experienced what is called a BLEVE, for boiling liquid exploding vapor explosion. To this day I remember the freakish curve one end of the tank car took which basically made the top and bottom of the car into one big piece of metal. This was after flying more than a half-mile from the track and into the woods. I have not since my days in journalism or fire-rescue kept up with tank cars or explosive crude oil. I just knew back in the day as a firefighter we were worried much more about chemical compounds exploding than crude.

So this is the part where I let the readers read all the links I have provided. I just wanted to emphasize, or reemphasize, that rail accidents involving HazMat is nothing new. But the railcars in West Virginia were of the type material that was built to have a high threshold to BLEVE. One wonders about that with the proposed northern part of the Keystone pipeline and the one already built that takes oil from Oklahoma to refineries only 15 or so miles down the highway from where I live.

I just wonder all the while taking what information I have discovered just in the last few hours. I make no conclusions, whether it be about the Bakken Crude flashpoint, the safety of new railcars or the risk of the Keystone pipeline that is already up and running not far at all away from me. So I provide here a few pieces to ponder and let you all draw your own conclusions. Have a nice day.

More reading:

USDOT: http://phmsa.dot.gov/pv_obj_cache/pv_obj_id_8A422ABDC16B72E5F166FE34048CCCBFED3B0500/filename/07_23_14_Operation_Safe_Delivery_Report_final_clean.pdf

Keystone XL Map

BlazeTech: BLEVE

 

Were you off today for, uh, umm … ?

Q: What day is it?

A: Monday.

Q: No jackass, I mean you are off work today. What holiday is it?

A: Uh, it is Happy Monday Off?

Q: C’mon now.

A: It is Presidents Day.

The first president is honored today with a holiday that includes apostrophes, dashes, another president and a civil rights leader.
The first president is honored today with a holiday that includes apostrophes, dashes, another president and a civil rights leader.

And things just go downhill from there. This pretended conversation ends in an answer, that is partially correct. It all just depends where you are and what you call this Federal and bank holiday.

If you work for the federal government then today is officially known as George Washington’s Birthday. Or as we used to joke as a kid, George Birthington’s Washday. If, however, you are a state employee you may have a different answer and perhaps even use varied punctuation of the holiday name.

Take Texas, for example. Okay, I am a Texan and damned proud of it. Who isn’t? Those who don’t like Texas, perhaps. Those folks might add to take Texas, “Please!” The name of today’s holiday, according to the State of Texas, is Presidents’ Day. Ditto for Presidents’ Day in Hawaii, New Mexico, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Puerto Rico, South Dakota, Vermont, and Washington.

If you are in Alaska, Idaho, Maryland, Nebraska, New Hampshire, Tennessee, West Virginia, and Wyoming, you would be celebrating “President’s Day.” That it is a single president’s day — the apostrophe “s” day. Hmm, I wonder who that president would be?

To further confuse the populace of this great nation, some states figure folks already know whose damned birthday it is. In Michigan, Nevada, New Jersey, and Oregon, the state fathers got rid of that pesky apostrophe altogether — it being “Presidents Day.”

Virginia, the state of the first president’s birth and death, gives him “George Washington Day.”

Like the federal government, the state of Massachusetts celebrates “George Washington’s Birthday.”

The other states share the day with Abraham Lincoln, who was born February 12 and had never been honored with a holiday. That is despite that some states honor Lincoln’s counterpart in the Confederate States of America, Jefferson Davis. Utah skips the apostrophe-s and call the holiday Washington and Lincoln Day. Colorado and Ohio likewise omits the apostrophe and instead uses a dash — Washington-Lincoln Day. Alabama, unsurprisingly holding a grudge, leaves Lincoln out and substitutes Thomas Jefferson for George Washington and Thomas Jefferson Day. Arkansas chooses to link the first president with someone probably not know out of the state who is not a president but, probably surprising to some, was a civil rights activist. George Washington’s Birthday and Daisy Gatson Bates Day honors the “Father of Our Country” with a publisher of a black newspaper who played an important part in the 1957 integration crisis involving efforts to enroll black students in Little Rock’s all white Central High School.

Most of the confusion over the whole Washington and President Day “thing,” notice I use no apostrophe or s with the latter, stems from the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1971. That federal law established 3-day-weekend holidays and moved Washington’s real birthday of February 22 to the third Monday in February. A push to create a holiday honoring presidents dates back to the early 1950s. Some congressional members actually wanted the day to honor all presidents but others believed the day often falling between Washington’s and Lincoln’s actual birthdays would cause problems. Compounding matters President Nixon referred to the holiday as Presidents Day.

Today, the day is mostly a holiday for government employees and those in the financial industry. It likewise is a day of traditional sales, especially in department sales. The average Joe, or Jane or George, doesn’t take the day off. It is just one more facet of government where many of the “Big-R Republicanism” persuasion fail in the argument that the federal government is a bogeyman of free-market captialism or is of a socialistic bent.